The Hunger Games: Second Quarter Quell
by fortysixafter
Summary: Fifty years have passed since the games began, and every quarter anniversary is a special occasion. The Quarter Quell. Haymitch Abernathy is a sixteen year old boy from District 12 with strong emotions and big heart, but that isn't the kind of thing that helps you survive the games. What is?
1. One

I opened my eyes slowly as I heard a soft knock against my window. It was dark outside, but the starlight lit up her white blonde hair. Lila. My Lila Jade. Normally I was the one sneaking out to meet her, knocking on her window hours before even the sun dared rise. Ever since we ran into each other wandering when we were both thirteen, it was our predawn journeys that I always enjoyed most.

Quietly I made my way over the window and pressed my hand against the glass. She kissed the other side. I held up two fingers and mouthed the words, _two minutes_. Her grin alone could have lit the night.

After three years of sneaking out, I still couldn't make it to the door without the floors whining. It was never the same boards, they all cried out. But mother and Kale never noticed, or at least they never said anything. It was the least of our problems anyway, and I always pulled my weight. Name in for rations behind their backs… but they had to know.

"I was starting to think you'd gone back to sleep, Mr. Abernathy!" I could see her laugh in the air as she whispered the words and entwined her cold fingers in mine. I tucked the hair covering her face behind her ear, and where my skin brushed against hers, I left a trail of clear skin. She shivered.

Nights were always cold, and we always came home with a coating of coal dust on our frozen skin.

"I was starting to think I'd gone absolutely crazy. Since when do beautiful girls come knocking at my window in the middle of the night?" I poked at her as we walked away from my house and toward the Empty Town. It was what we always called our Victorless Village. No one ever won from District 12… Only once… but our victor couldn't stand to live after the games.

"I'm not beautiful…" She stopped in her tracks and let go of my hand.

"I beg to differ, Lila Jade, you make the girls in District One look like rusty squirrel vomit."

"That doesn't even make sense." The corner of her mouth twitched, but she continued to frown, her face toward the ground. She wouldn't look at me.

"Hey," I stepped to face her. "Look at me, Lile." And suddenly her arms were around me so tight, her head buried into my chest. I didn't know what to do.

"Hey," I ran my hand through her hair, I could feel her crying. "Hey," Again, it was as if I wasn't there, like I was there to hug and nothing else.

This could be our last night togeth-

No. Nothing was going to happen. No thinking like that. We're only sixteen. Neither of us were going to be called in the reaping. It's never our loved ones. We've been safe and blessed every single year. We were taken care of. We were safe.

We were going to have nights like this for the rest of our lives. Our life. Together.

"I love you, Lile."

"Don't say that… please don't say that."

"Why wouldn't I say it? I should say it. And you'd better get used to it because I'm going to say it every-"

She let out a sob. My stomach churned. I didn't know what to do. She'd never cried. She'd always been so happy. She was practically untouched by the life of District Twelve. I don't know how, but she was always, always, always happy. I loved that about her. She was contagious. She was always there for me. All of the nights when I'd show up at her window. Confused. Angry. Upset.

But she was always happy.

She was never like this.

I could feel her warm breath against my chest. She was saying something, but I could only feel it. Her warm, broken breaths like ice shattering my heart.

"Lila… please, I don't… what's wrong? Please look at me."

She let go. Stepped back.

"I can't do this." I felt like I was going to throw up. "No… that's not what I mean. What I mean is… Haymitch… what if I get called when the reaping comes in the next few hours? You don't know… how many times…" She buried her face in her small, elegant hands.

What do I do? "How many times what, Lile?"

We were standing along the gate, the dying grass covered in frost. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? _I could feel nerves tingling all along my arms, my shoulders, down my spine, in my neck, all the way through my legs. _I don't know what to do._I pictured her laughing in school, singing off key with me, bickering with our peers… always smiling. Always my girl.

"My name… my family needed it. My parents… they starve themselves to feed me… I wanted to," She paused and swallowed, but the tears were streaming down her face. I could only think of how cold her face must be. But I couldn't believe what she was saying. My stomach churned again.

She'd done exactly what I had done for my mom and brother. She was more likely to be chosen than anyone else. And so was I.

But there must be others… others who were so desperate so as to volunteer their name for food and supplies. We couldn't be the only ones.

We were only sixteen. We were in love. We were going to get married. It was her. It was always her.

"Lila, I don't care what you say. They won't call your name. I know they won't. You'll be safe. You'll be fine. I love you. We are going to be fine." I wrapped my arms around her tight as she echoed my words.

"We're going to be fine."


	2. Two

Lila and I talked late into the night, or I suppose you could say early into the morning. Kale was awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling when I returned to our room, but he said nothing. Just stared off as if the ceiling were an endless sky. Just stared off as if it weren't another boring ceiling in our dying Seam. Everyone was dying. We were all just at different stages. But from the very moment we were born… we began dying.

I tried explaining my thoughts to my brother once, but Kale just told me to shut up, to stop focusing on death and focus on taking care of our mother.

I always had mixed emotions on that.

Being told I was obsessed with death. Being told I had to take care of the woman who was supposed to take care of us. Being expected to act as a son, an older brother, and as the man my father had refused to be. I don't know what happened to him. I barely remember him. He disappeared according to my mother after Kale was born. I think he killed himself. That he couldn't handle living such a boring life. Because I remember the stories he used to tell when I was still barely walking along the dusty floors of our tiny home. Or maybe he disappeared into the woods, the world beyond the fence.

Either way, he was dead.

I rustled through the trunk at the end of my bed, determined to look my best for the day. The Reaping. Everyone always looked their best, seeing as the mayor would have anyone who showed up in their nighties or uniforms beaten after the ceremony.

Definitely didn't want that.

There was still a few hours until the ceremony, but I couldn't rest. I knew nothing was going to happen to us. But it was the Quarter Quell… The second one. If it were like the first one, like my mother had told Kale and I in bedtime stories, how they voted the tributes, everyone I loved would be just fine. The District would be a much better, a much safer place. We'd vote in the bullies, the slackers. If only we could vote them all in.

I couldn't stop my mind, it was travelling so fast. Faster than an arrow in the arenas.

What if this year… what if this year they only had volunteers? Or what if they doubled the winnings? Or if they took all the tributes from the top Districts? What if this year they gave us a break? What if this year, there were no games?

What if this year they just eradicated District 12 and the other outlying Districts?

They wouldn't do that…

But they could.

The new President was fierce. He called himself Snow. But with his dark hair and beady little eyes, only his cold demeanor reminded me of the name. He made children cry with his fierce tone, and whenever he came on the television with his ice queen latched onto his arm, he made me sick. Lila said she felt the same way when we discussed it once. And then she flung herself onto my arm, acting all airy and diseased as if she were the President's wife. The memory made me smile.

I'd walked her home, held her hand, kissed her on the cheek and snuck in through her window to tuck her in before saying goodnight. She'd probably be asleep until just before the reaping. She loved sleeping. She'd sleep her whole life away if she could… She could. If I were called in the reaping. If maybe… maybe I were called and if I won, then we could get married and fill the empty town with our love and our families. Together. We could have our own family.

If life were a fairytale.

I chose the clothes quickly, there wasn't much to pick from. Faded gray pants that were starting to show my ankles, an old white shirt, burned at the tail from a few years ago when Kale was learning how to light matches. It was one of the few times I remember my mother showing emotion. She smiled and winked at me when I was about ready to kill him. I just wanted to dress to impress Lila… I was so mad at her when she laughed that day, the reaping when we were thirteen, just a few months after we'd met.

"Haymitch?"

Kale's voice made me jump. I was so lost in thought that I'd forgot he was there. He was ten. Safe from the reaping just a few more years. And I was determined he'd never have to worry about it. As soon as I finished school, I planned on getting into politics. I didn't have the name or past for it… but I had a decent reputation. I was determined. Kale would never go to sleep hungry again. He'd never worry, never fret. He'd be fine.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping? Big day. You have to help mom cook after the reaping, don't you?" Every year she helped cook for the family's of the tributes. It was her thing. Her way of coping.

"I can't. I'm scared." I could hear the fear in his small voice, dry from the lack of water we'd had lately. It'd been a nasty drought this year.

"Hey now, you don't get to be scared, bud. You're an Abernathy!" I crossed the small space between our beds and sat at his feet. "What are you scared of?" He fidgeted his feet through the blanket against my thigh.

"What if you get-"

"I won't."

"You didn't even let me fin-"

"Because I knew what you were going to say. I'm not going to get called today. I'm going to stay here. I'm going to take care of you and mom and finish school and everything is going to be okay. We'll be fine."

"But… that's what Peter's family thought last year. He told me in class the other day that his mom hasn't left her room all week because of the reaping and he told me about how much they miss Patch and I don't know what we'd do without you we need you."

"I'm not going anywhere, squirrel meat." I growled and grabbed his small feet through the blanket. He squealed and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. I pressed a finger to my lips.

"None of that, brat. You're gonna wake up mom." He smiled. "I'm gonna get ready and head out for a bit. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay." I tussled his shaggy sandy hair.

"Go back to bed, don't turn into a bed bug. I will kill you if you bite me." He snapped his jaw at me. "Don't tempt me, I still need to extract my revenge for my shirt that you burned –"

"But that was years-"

"Shhhh. Back to sleep. Now." He pulled the thin sheet over his head and murmured a muffled goodnight.


	3. Three

The early morning passed like sand falling through an hourglass, and the sun rose over the mountains all too soon. Like a death sentence. In a way it was.

The day of the reaping.

Today will be the day that we say goodbye to yet another one of our friends. Someone will lose a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter… all because of some stupid uprising. What if they treated all of us like the first districts? What if none of us were hungry? What if we all had what we needed and no one had to starve in safety? But then what good would District 12 be? And who would supply the coal and power for the upper districts?

No. Today will be the last day for two of District 12's beloved children.

Lila meets me just outside of the main square shortly after sunrise. Her gleaming hair groomed into a ball of a bun on her head, like one of the dancers from the Capitol during the celebration of the victors. She's radiating, yet reeking of sadness. She's afraid.

We walk toward back toward the Seam, back toward my home, in silence, our fingers interlocked. Her hand is cold, and her grip is like death. I can't imagine letting her go.

_Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen._

After the reaping, she'll go home and celebrate with her family like always, and I'll spend the evening catering to the broken families of our dying district with food we can't even afford to share.

_Tesserae_

_Tesserae_

_Tesserae_

The Capitol says it's a year's supply of grain and oil, every additional slip is supposedly enough for one person.

Maybe if you were in the upper district and your desire was to starve and be skin and bones, living off of supplements and muscle enhancers… that be a better match for the Capitol's description.

I remember watching the Games when I was younger, before my mom went all corpse like and worthless… watching the games and thinking that someday, I would be big and strong like some of the tributes.

Now I only wanted to be strong enough to make Lila smile, make her forget her troubles and take care of Kale.

I could do it.

I could do it if I won the games.

Or I could die.

But that's no matter, because there's no way my name will be drawn of the thousands of slips in the death bowls. They didn't matter in the upper districts. People there… after your name was called, they asked for tributes. In the upper districts, if your name is called, you're safe. No matter what, someone will always volunteer in your place.

As we reach my front door, Lila pauses. "Go quick. The square is going to fill up fast." She drops my hand and stops at the door and pushes me through the open door with her delicate arms, covered with her thin light blue sleeves, white frills at the wrist like doilies. She was beautiful. She was my ray of hope.

Every year, every year on this one day, we would dress up like we had some sort of extra money lying around. Anyone who didn't… well, it wasn't pretty. I don't know what it is about our mayors, but it's like they take someone from a higher district every time, offer them a job in the government, and at the last moment… they're banished to act as mayor of District 12. I almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

I really would if it wasn't for the fact that, you know, they acted as if they were our kings every time. Acting like kiss ups for the Capitol, begging and pleading to go back home. Return to their polished lives in their polished houses in their polished districts.

They tried so hard to make us just like them on the one day of the year we'd be televised and expected to behave and appear grateful to our merciless leaders.

The reaping.

But this year… the anticipation is greater. No one knows what to expect with the quarter quell. No one has heard a thing about how they're going to make this anniversary different.

As I wash off the layer of coal dust coating my hands, I have an awful thought. The quarter quell. Twenty five years ago, they voted on who would be in the games. What if they do that again? What if they choose to put us all in? Or if they only take one gender? What if this is the end for an entire district? What if…

Kale.

Mom's tucking his shirt into his coal shaded pants in the kitchen. He'll hold her hand as they watch from afar, in some random street near the square.

But what if this year no one was safe? No age to start, no age to end. No one is ever safe. Why bother? I want out. But there is no out.

The reaping is closing in on us, and I can feel the unease in the air as I meet Lila back outside. She's fidgeting. Bouncing on her heels. Chewing on her lip. Her nose is red, she's been crying. The square is close on days like this, the anticipation, the fear, the heartache… The silence whisks us into the square.


	4. Four

There are no cameras in the square.

It was announced a week ago that there would be none; President Snow is a man with a murderous gleam in his eyes. He gets off on our shock and misery. He said it was to surprise all of the sponsors at the first ceremony. Lila and I knew from the beginning he wanted to watch every heart in every district break today.

We filed in, sorted through, and took our places in the flock. Minute by minute crowding closer and closer to one another, until no longer can I see Lila's bun above the crowd. She is swallowed. My heart hurts and feels as if it is dying whenever I can't see her… but I will see her after.

People file into the shops with windows, into side streets and whatever ally way they can find. I'm toward the back middle of the boys section, two more years until I'm in the back row. Three more years until I'm hiding from this madness in an ally, or clawing for a window to keep my eyes on Kale.

This has always been Lila's worst part. The constant throng of people filing in, surrounding her. She fainted one year when we were fourteen. She's struggled with claustrophobia since her first year in the reaping.

Two more years and Lila will be safe, and I will marry her.

I stare at the sea of heads before me. I'm not short, but I'm no giant either. I guess it's a good thing they file in youngest to oldest. Youngest in the front, oldest in the back. It's awful. You think it's bad your first year, standing in the very front, watching as your role models step up to the stage. Siblings, cousins, friends, neighbors… And you watch them cry. Front row. You hear their breathing stagger.

But it gets worse.

Every year, you move back, and you get to watch everyone in front of you. How they react. Every year, you're exposed to more and more and more. And every year you're more likely to watch someone walk the entire length of the aisle to the stage.

You watch them die.

When you're from District 12, you don't die in the arena. I mean, you do, but you die before that. It's in the way you walk, the way you carry yourself. Last year… last year I watched a boy I grew up with, a year older than me, step out into the aisle, every step heavier than the last. He was destroyed before he even reached the steps.

A few months ago, my mom opened up about the first quarter quell and how each district voted in their tributes. She was ten. Her older brothers were fifteen and seventeen, and her older sister was thirteen, all eligible for the quell and to vote. She never spoke of who the girl was, but the boy was a nightmare. He was eighteen. And though he was the only one to ever win the games, I'd never heard of him before. I almost didn't believe her when she said we'd had a victor in District 12.

I mean, we're District 12.

We starve in peace or we mine ourselves to death if we survive the darker years.

I asked her about who he was. Why he was a nightmare. But she never said. Only that as soon as the victor tour was over, he was dead on his first night in the victor village. No one spoke of him since. No one ever confessed to the murder. And District 12 went back to peaceful starvation.

There's a tapping over the speakers, the mayor testing the microphone. His dark hair is combed back, his coal grey, padded suit pressed neat and snug against his bony, starving form. He starves himself by choice, though. He likes looking that way. His eyebrows are greased into swirls at the end. He's trying too hard to be elite.

"Attention, everybody, quiet down, quiet down." Silence washes over the crowd as the peacekeepers arm themselves in front of the stage. They stand in two staggered rows in front of the stage, as well as staggered on either sides of the aisle. I can only imagine what an awful job that must be. I can't imagine surviving these years, only to turn around to be handed a weapon and expected to kill as a living.

It had to be a washed up careers career.

And then the anthem began to play.

"We welcome you, to our fiftieth anniversary of the Hunger Games! And that means ours second Quarter Quell! Without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen, visiting us all the way from the capitol, President Snow!" You can see him imagining the applause in his head, he wasn't fit for government. I almost felt sorry for the man. He was more of an entertainment guy. Lila joked on several occasions how he'd be a fabulous designer with the way he carried himself.

President Snow takes the stage, followed by a boy in a white suit. The boy is holding a small wooden box. And as the anthem ends, President Snow begins to speak.

It's kind of weird seeing him here in his Capitol suit. He's a fat man. I imagine if he fell, that he could bounce right back up. I looked at the boy next to me, you could feel how on edge he was, and thought about sharing my thoughts for a laugh… but didn't want to risk being caught. Silence and respect was mandatory on a normal reaping day and you'd be whipped afterward if you broke it. On a Quarter Quell…

I turn my attention back to the stage, the Capitol hanging from the Justice Building. Two chairs, the podium, the two large globes that hold us all captive… I think that maybe if I stare hard enough, I can picture myself in a life where this doesn't exist. Where Lila and I aren't living in a nightmare, where we don't live in fear.

President Snow is droning on and on about the wonderful history of these awful games. How the Hunger Games were born from the Dark Days. But District 12, the dark days are every day.

"When the laws for the Games were created, it was dictated that every twenty-five years, the anniversary will be marked by a Quarter Quell. It will call for a glorified version of our Games, to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion!" President Snow's voice makes me want to vomit. You can hear his hatred, his anger, his contempt for life. I cannot imagine being related to him. To think that he has a wife and kids… I wonder what he would do if they were ever called into the reaping.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

His crooked smile deepened. I wonder if he was in awe of District 12's win on that year. And maybe, he is even more pleased that we killed our only victor.

"And now we honor our second Quarter Quell," his voice booms over the square and the boy steps up to him, his small arms outstretched with the box settled firmly on his upturned palms. He was dressed in white from head to toes. Shoes, pants, shirt, bracelet, even his hair was platinum. He's the picture of innocence, standing next to the devil himself.

Snow turns to him.

The box is filled with envelopes. The tips of them peeking out at the audience. It's unrealistic how many there are. He carries the envelope marked with a big dark 50 and holds it facing us. Smiling over us. I glare back.

The crisp opening of the envelope snaps over the speakers and the envelope flutters to the stage floor.

His smile turns into a grin. He chuckles.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to all that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district will send in twice the tributes. Two girls, two boys!" The excitement in his voice makes my stomach churn even more.

Twice as many.

Not only is my name in extra, but now I have two chances to be called.

What about Lila? I can't see Lila. I have to find Lila.

I have to stay right here. I can't move.

I have to stay right here. Or they might hurt Lila.

"And what an _honor_ it is to be here on this anniversary reaping to your tributes to the stage! And tonight we shall depart for the Capitol! As always… ladies first. I will only be calling the first tribute, and she shall call the next, and so on." He walked over to the girl's glass globe, his fat hand plunging into the names, pulling a slip out from the middle. He saunters back to the podium, unfolds the slip, and condemns the first girl.

"Maysilee Donner!"

I knew her. Not well, she was two years younger than me. But she sings in the choir, and so does Lila. With her friend Ivy who hangs around the Everdeen boys. I know she has a twin. She works in her family's sweet shop.

You could feel the death in the air.

Everyone turned slowly to face Maysilee, as if she were a magnetic force drawing us all in… You could see the numbness on her face, in her limp, dying march toward the stairs.

She stops, but President Snow waves her toward the bowl her name was just drawn from.

She's shaking. She puts one hand to her mouth and reaches in with the other. Snow directs her to the podium.

She unfolds the paper.

"Blye… Redpath." She choked the name and my heart sunk. And jumped at the same time. Blye lived just outside of the Seam, she didn't starve, never would have had to enter for tesserae… I didn't know much about her family, she has two brother, she laughs a lot, everyone loved her…

It was her first year in the reaping.

A boy behind me was sobbing.

She turned twelve last week.

A peacekeeper shoved his way into his row. I didn't turn around.

She always made everyone smile.

But… she wasn't my Lile.

I had to focus on that. My Lile was safe this year. She just had to make it through one more reaping now, no more worrying. Lila was safe. She'd be fine. Everything was working out fine. I'll find her and I will soothe her and we'll survive another year together.

Blye was already up to the stage. Maysilee held her hand as she walked up the stairs.

She wasn't even as tall as the globes. But she was still smiling in her small pink dress, even though you could see the streaks that were clean from the dust that marked her face. She was crying. But she was smiling. She stood on her tip toes, her armpit against the side of the sphere to pull a name out quickly.

She mouthed the words, I'm sorry, before unfolding the slip.

Her smile fell and words escaped her as she threw the slip away from her. She screamed.

The peacekeepers all turned to face her with their guns, but President Snow waved them off, walked over to her, and whispered into her ear.

You could hear his words sneak into the microphone.

"You better say the name or so help me I will…" He looked up, and stopped as she was standing back at the podium again.

"Briar Redpath."

Every head suddenly turned my way, and then to the aisle.

The boy behind me was her brother. They were both going to die.

He all but ran to the stage and grabbed his sister. This was wrong. This was so wrong.

He was in the first row of seventeen year olds. He was in his last reaping.

Her first and his last.

None of us are safe.

He walks over to the bowl, plucks a name out and marches back to the podium, and without hesitation, he unfolds the slip.

"Haymitch Abernathy."


End file.
